


Cracked

by roseverdict



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ford Pines Never Went Through The Portal, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Canon Divergence - A Tale of Two Stans, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Ford Pines Needs a Hug, Ford Pines is Trying, Gen, Mullet Stan Pines, Paranoid Ford Pines, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, Stan Pines is a Good Brother, happy gf-versary!, or at least a hopeful one, stancest shippers Do Not Touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseverdict/pseuds/roseverdict
Summary: In which the course of destiny is changed by a voice crack at the best possible time.(or, the one Rosie wrote back in December that basically sealed her fate and locked her Gravity Falls fixation in for the next few months.)
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	Cracked

**Author's Note:**

> i hear it’s the anniversary!!! :D here’s the fic i wrote back in december that kicked off my latest gf fixation!!! it might read a little jankily but i still like it!!!
> 
> warnings: stan’s potty mouth. bit of possession. stan’s mental health is in a dark, dark place and there’s a brief allusion to suicide because of it. it doesn’t go anywhere but it’s still there. stay safe!
> 
> **_anyway here’s another “the fight in the basement veers off-course and nobody goes through the portal and the stan twins fkn TALK TO EACH OTHER FOR ONCE” au because i Cannot Get Enough Of It_ **

“I’m giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won’t even _listen!_ ”

Okay.

 _That_ hurt.

“Well, listen to _this!_ You want me to get rid of this journal? _Fine!_ ”

It was almost like a fever dream. Honestly, the past several hours had _all_ felt like some nightmarish concoction cooked up by his mind after one too many nights in rock bottom.

Maybe that was why he felt his blood pressure skyrocketing as he looked at his brother (his _twin!_ ) for the first time in a decade.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t keep the Stan Salesman Smile (patent pending) in place when he _knew_ he should be able to wrangle his emotions better than this, when he knew he _had_ wrangled his emotions better than this before.

Maybe that was why his throat seemed to close up more and more as he spoke.

Maybe that was why he snatched his lighter from his pocket and lit it up.

_(Maybe that was why the ceaseless pull of fate slipped for the briefest possible moment.)_

“ _I’ll get rid of it right NOW!_ ”

Maybe that was why he felt his voice crack for the first time since…well, it was no use thinking about it now.

He couldn’t keep himself from wincing, but the damage was done.

“ _No!_ You don’t under…” The raw panic on Ford’s face shifted into something ever-so-slightly different, and he glanced away from the journal above the pitiful flame and towards Lee’s face.

Wait.

Lee's…wet face screwing itself up into an ugly mess _DAMMIT!_

“Y'know what? Forget it.” He ground his teeth together and tossed the journal to the ground, shoving his lighter into his pocket with a scoff. “Find somebody else, Stanford. Find somebody _better._ I don’t think you _really_ want the family screw-up touching your oh-so-precious research.”

He stubbornly refused to even look at Ford, storming out of the fancy-schmancy sciency room and heading for the elevator.

There was dead silence behind him for a few moments, then a flurry of footsteps, though none got any closer.

Yeah.

That’s what he’d thought.

Ford didn’t need him, after all. ‘The only one he could trust’ his _ass!_ Lee was probably just the first person who’d gotten to the cabin, and everyone else Ford had called would show up and…Lee didn’t know, have a nerd party or something?

It had been ten years.

His pa didn’t want to see hide or hair of him without heaps of cash that would never come.

His twin didn’t even have any need for him beyond being a glorified mailman.

He was running out of states he could visit.

It had been _ten years!_

Everything he’d worked for, _everything he cared about_ …it was all for his family, and they’d just tossed him aside when they were through with him.

It was probably for the best if Lee just _found someplace secluded_ (hey, these woods were pretty secluded) _and-_

“Stanley? STANLEY, WAIT!”

Unbidden, the hand holding the lighter clenched into a fist. Lee swallowed before trying to speak. “I don’t see why I should! You’re the big, smart, science genius! Figure out some way to do… _whatever_ it is needs doing, and _leave me out of it!_ If it’s so important to you for this to happen, _make it happen without the guy whose greatest strength is fucking things up!_ ”

To himself, under his breath, he added, “S'all I’m good for, anyhow.”

The elevator opened, Lee stepped inside, and he finally turned around.

As the doors closed, he caught a glimpse of Ford scrambling for him, eyes wide and manic, and _definitely_ not pleading.

 _Definitely_ not.

And then he began to rise.

…he’d have to book it if he wanted to be gone by the time Ford could follow him.

He chuckled drily.

At least he’d had plenty of practice at leaving on bad terms.

〜〜〜〜〜〜

By the time Stanford managed to get to the front door again, Stanley was already almost invisible in the blizzard, his posture the slump of a defeated man.

(And by all the gods he’d heard legends about over the past several years, _Stanley_ with such a resigned slouch was _never_ something that he’d thought he’d see.)

Stanford didn’t _dare_ leave the house. (Bill would take advantage of the snowstorm, he would make Stanford lose consciousness somewhere he wouldn’t be found until the spring thaw because he would _know_ Stanford was vulnerable, he would _see_ it, he could see _everything-!_ )

Stanford couldn’t _possibly_ let Stanley just leave. (Without the possibility of Stanley taking the journal someplace even Stanford couldn’t find, all three remained within easy reach of Bill, and _all he’d have to do was get into Stanford’s head once-!_ )

Caught between a rock and a hard place, he did the only thing he could think to do.

He took a deep, biting breath, braced himself in the doorway, and over the howling of the wind, he _screamed._

“STANLEY, _PLEASE!_ ”

Stanley froze in place, neither turning around nor continuing his trek into the snow.

_(How was Ford supposed to know Lee had heard that scream in all the worst of his nightmares? How was he supposed to know Lee’s blood had frozen for reasons unrelated to the weather?)_

~~_(How were either of them supposed to know those nightmares came from a source that had used this moment as a blueprint, yet never expected this moment to actually_ come? _)_~~

_~~(How was the source of those nightmares supposed to know that all it had taken was a simple~~ _ ~~voice crack _to make its plans so much more_ difficult? _)_~~

“Stanley, I’m not sure what you _think_ I called you out here for, but…” Stanford sucked in a lungful of air in a vain attempt to steady himself before continuing. (And was it just him, or was it getting harder to breathe?) “…despite everything, I _know_ I can trust you. That’s more than I can say for anyone else…myself included.”

 _That_ got Stanley to turn around, confusion blatantly obvious, even if his face was still obscured by the storm.

“I _understand_ that you will likely never want to see me again, but this stretches far beyond just you and me.” Was he loud enough to be heard over the wind? _Moses,_ he hoped so. He didn’t want to look like he was just standing there like a creep. “Stanley, I-!”

-couldn’t breathe.

It might’ve been the emotional turmoil, it might’ve been his less-than-stellar sleeping habits taking their toll, it might’ve been what he had for breakfast, it might’ve just been a good, old-fashioned panic attack, but _whatever_ the cause, the end result was the same.

Stanford couldn’t breathe.

_His vision was tunnelling._

Once he passed out, there was no telling what Bill would do.

He haphazardly yanked off his overcoat and wrapped the journal in it before tossing it into the snow. “Stanley, TAKE IT! _RUN!_ ”

And on that terrifying note, Stanford’s vision went dark and his body crumpled to the ground like a puppet cut from its strings.

〜〜〜〜〜〜

Lee stared for a moment longer before scrambling forward, snatching up the journal-bundle-thing and shoving it into his duffle bag. “ _SIXER!_ ”

(A screw-up he may be, but let it never be said that Stanley Pines willingly abandoned his family when he knew they needed him.)

He zipped the duffle back up and threw it onto the porch, his hands reaching forward to take Ford by the shoulders almost of their own accord when-

Manic giggling shook Ford’s frame, making Lee skid to a stop just before he could reach the porch, alarm bells going off and red flags being raised.

Ford moved to get up, but in the most unnatural way possible, as far as Lee could tell. First one hand pressed flat against the floor, then the other. Each leg was flopped into position, for lack of a better word, and then Ford’s head snapped up to smirk at him.

No.

Whatever was going on, the _thing_ taunting him from behind Ford’s eyes was _not_ his brother, he could tell. His childhood of adventure-hunting had taught him _that_ much.

At least it made sense why Ford had checked his eyes now.

(What did Ford _do?_ )

But Lee had lies in his blood and was a conman by trade. He refused to let whatever-it-was see just how unsettled he was. In fact, he decided to play as dumb as he possibly could.

Maybe Not-Ford would let something important slip.

So, while he was terrified and confused and _really pissed off at the bodysnatcher_ and honestly _way_ out of his depth on the inside, on the outside, he simply injected the right amount of worry into his voice and asked, “Stanford?! C'mon, bro, _speak_ to me!”

The thing wearing Ford like an oversized jacket cackled. **“Your brother can’t come to the phone right now! Wanna leave a message?”**

Not even trying to be subtle. Fine. Lee could work with that.

It would make sense if he got all angry with it, right? Right.

Not that he wasn’t already, but now that the _thing_ had chosen to blow its cover, he didn’t see any reason he had to pretend otherwise.

Lee stormed onto the porch, leaned in, and grabbed the collar of Ford’s shirt in his fists, channelling his inner Rico. “What are you, and _what have you done to my brother?_ ”

 **“Oho, feisty, are we?”** The thing grinned, stretching Ford’s face far beyond anything that could possibly be healthy. **“No need to worry! I can leave your dearest brother alone here soon, but I’d like your help with something.”**

 _Focus,_ Lee. Don’t let your emotions go off the handle _now._ Sell the bit. You are an immature man who gets lost in his emotions and makes rash decisions. You are _not_ watching this bodysnatcher like a hawk.

For _once_ in your life, _don’t lash out!_

“Y'know, after seeing you start playing with Ford’s body like a toy, I’m not exactly inclined to believe you.” Lee snarled, keeping his gaze locked on the inhuman eyes, yellow and slitted and _not_ the same brown as he saw in the mirror every day. (He forced himself to avoid focusing on how he was nearly _threatening Ford._ It wasn’t him. It had his face but _it wasn’t him._ )

You are easily manipulated, regardless of how you try to manipulate others.

 **“Hey, whatever happened to 'find someone else, Stanford,’ huh?”** The thing chortled. **“You haven’t exactly _been there_ for your brother these past several years, have you?”**

You are _not_ a threat, no matter how much you try to be.

“Well, what do you _propose_ I do? Just leave him here with _you?_ ” Lee snapped, lifting Ford’s body and pressing him against the outer wall.

You are dancing to this monster’s tune, whether you want to or not.

 **“Hey, now, all I want is this itty-bitty book.”** Not-Ford held his hands up in (probably false) surrender. **“You give me that book, and I’ll leave this guy’s body alone.”**

You are _not_ someone who drops everything and makes a break for Nowhere, Oregon for a chance to see your brother again, to _reconcile._

“What’s so special about this book, anyway?” Lee asked, feigning interest. He let his grip slacken ever-so-slightly, as if he was truly intending to listen to whatever the monster had to say.

Play along! _Sell the bit!_

(His blood roared in his ears.)

 **“It’s quite simple, really.”** The monster grinned. **“Fordsy and I worked _real hard_ on this journal of his, and, well, we had some creative differences that wouldn’t work out, so I figured I’d be the one who deserved to hang onto it when we went our separate ways, except wouldn’t ya know it? He called _you_ in to take it instead!”**

So _that_ was what it wanted.

Lee stared into the monster’s stolen eyes, refusing to make the rookie mistake of glancing at what they were fighting about.

Surprisingly, the monster _also_ didn’t try to glance anywhere.

Either it was more experienced in the art of the con than _he_ was (in which case he was well and truly screwed), or it really had no idea where he’d stashed the journal in those critical few seconds.

_Interesting._

Luckily for Lee, he’d never gotten out of the habit of storing as much as possible in as many pockets as possible. There was no way for the monster to tell what was (or was _not_ ) in his pockets.

Lee put on a distrustful air. “And if I give you what you deserve, you’ll leave my brother alone?”

 **“I _guarantee_ it.”** The monster purred.

Lee only had one shot at this.

He let go with one hand, the way he would if he was _actually_ going along with the monster’s idea, and reached into his jacket pocket.

Slowly.

On-guard.

As would be expected.

(His heart raced.)

His fingers slid into place in his brass knuckles from habit, but he slipped them out a moment later. Monster controlling him or not, _decade of bad blood between them or not,_ this was still _Ford._ He wasn’t about to permanently _maim_ the guy.

He offered the monster a nasty grin of his own, tightening his grip and dropping his ruse.

“Think again, _fucker._ ”

The monster’s stolen eyes widened in fury, and it seemed it was on the verge of snarling something at him-

-and then he gave Ford’s body an uppercut, knocking the monster unconscious in one blow with the power of nature’s snooze button.

Lee felt the adrenaline start draining almost immediately, so he quickly grabbed his duffle, let Ford sag against him, and all but dragged the both of them into the house, kicking the door shut behind them.

He set his brother down on a nearby couch and shook his head with a sigh.

“Geez, Poindexter, what’d you get yourself _into?_ ”

〜〜〜〜〜〜

The first thing Stanford noticed was that he was hurt.

Considering what had happened to him the last few times he’d fallen unconscious, that fact alone didn’t surprise him.

What _did_ surprise him was that he was sore, as opposed to the knife-like pain Bill preferred to cause, be it by blade, fork, or sandpaper. Bill enjoyed scratching and cutting things, not causing aches and pains that weren’t sharp and all-consuming.

…actually, now he thought about it, he was only sore in one spot, which was _another_ irregularity. Bill _never_ let him wake back up until he’d injured him in at least two places.

He felt his brow scrunch up slightly at that, and then he heard a voice.

“Sixer? Is it actually you this time?”

_Stanley._

Stanford’s mind kicked back into gear, the memories of the past several minutes playing behind his eyes as he gasped for breath.

There was anger. He’d told Stanley to run! Why was he still here?

There was relief. Whether he deserved it or not, he was just glad to not be alone at the moment.

And then Stanley’s one-liner replayed for him, complete with the sight of watching Bill get knocked out cold.

 _“Think again,_ fucker. _”_

It explained why he was sore, but more than that, Stanford realized that Stanley had caught onto Bill’s ruse from the start.

_Stanley had played Bill like a fiddle._

No, even more than _that._

Stanley had played _him_ like a fiddle.

Granted, Stanley had no way of knowing Stanford was having an out-of-body experience whenever Bill took over, but his acting skills had even convinced _Stanford_ that he’d been about to hand the journal over.

“Stanford? You gotta gimme something here.”

Oh. Right.

Stanford cracked his eyes open to find himself laying on top of his couch, with…his arms strapped down.

That made sense.

“Check my eyes, Stanley.” Stanford croaked. “It’s me this time.”

There came the shuffling of footsteps, and a bright light shone into his eyes before Stanley made a pleased huff.

(The part of Stanford that had never gotten past Glass Shard Beach wanted to applaud Stanley for picking up on the eye thing so quickly.)

“Okay. It’s you.” Stanley declared, reaching over and loosening the makeshift bindings on Stanford’s wrists. “Now, can you _please_ tell me what’s actually going on?”

Stanford _wanted_ to insist he leave, get as much distance from him as he could…

…but his mind kept going back to the way Stanley’s voice had cracked in the basement, and he kept seeing the way Stanley had seemed so beaten-down in the storm.

So, instead, Stanford pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbed his aching jaw with an appreciative look to Stanley, and started talking.

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write more but the words Would Not Come
> 
> anyway here's an excerpt from my notes about a potential "finding fiddleford" scene: stan goes "sixer what the fuck did you do to this man" while ford goes "STANLEY WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO THIS MAN"


End file.
